The Ramblings of a Homicidal Maniac
by the Raven of Roses
Summary: insanity! just nny's thoughts durin a rampage. related to me other fic, along came a french girl itll probly only make sense if ya read it...who the hell am i kidding? Ive no idea what it was about, and i WROTE it. ch 3 up
1. One stormy night

1-22-05

Author's Note: Greetings, children. Gather round and I will tell thee a story. Tis a story of madness, inside the very head of a homicidal maniac. The world's most beloved massive headwound recipient is the star of our show, and he's just as psychotically screwed up as ever. This little fic is from Nny's point of view, and if you've read me other jthm fic, you'll know about when this takes place. Enjoy, kiddies, and do drop a review if you like it. (Whee! Go redundancy!)

-Raven

Cheerleader. Disgusting. Made fun of me. Must die must die must die must diediediediediediediediedie

Blood. Warm blood. Lovely rich blood. Horrible disgusting vile evil blood. Everywhere. Covering me. Not me, go to the wall. The Wall likes the blood. Must paint the wall the wall needs food must repaint it keep it happy very happy wall is nice my friend the wall likes the blood takes it all away revenge is sweet where did that come from?

I hate the blood but the Wall likes it I'm painting the wall the vibrant color of life is coating the brush paint must paint cant now have to paint the wall paint later. Blood smell sickening cant believe I've done this what the hell went wrong? Never tried to do anything like this cant see how this happened

_You don't even remember what happened a few years back, Nny. Do you actually believe that you can remember your own childhood?_

Get out of my head I cant deal with this right now just let me paint the wall go away let me paint the wall. So much blood its everywhere I cant believe this is happening. No remorse no sleep no remorse no sleep no remorse no sleep no remorse no sleep my mantra my mantra I can't sleep no pity no sleep no respite from the death I am Death cant believe this is happening must feed the wall.

_Nny, Nny...........Stop doing this to yourself. Get out and enjoy yourself for once. Go fry a couple more cheerleaders...Have fun..._

Maybe I should don't do this to me I hate you get out of my head.

Silence. So much quiet. Where's the noise? Headnoize is gone where did it go I need the noise please come back don't leave me alone

Noise is gone. That's good. I don't need it. I never needed it. It must be close to sundown Annette should be eating now I wonder how long it's been since I ate anything? Go upstairs.

No it's still very early. Sun barely rising. Annette not going to be awake for a long time

_Kill her._

No Annette good just a little girl cant kill her.

_She's an irritant. Why not?_

Leave me alone Annette doesn't deserve to die not like the others she's good I like her don't make me kill her.

_Fine, Nny, but when she makes you just as miserable as the last one did, do NOT come crying back. You won't get any pity from us._

Of course I understand just leave me alone I need to think go away.

Bathroom Annette cleaned it yesterday no blood that's good blood is disgusting no corpses we got rid of those last night too buried in the yard done that a lot lately what am I doing here, anyway?

Shower water cold good don't bother to take off the clothes they're good clothes anyway cold water wash off blood so much blood so much blood can't see right so cold no warmth no noise in the head please let it be silent can't take it much longer leave me alone

_Nny.....kill her._

No!

_Then kill yourself. You're better off dead anyway._

You can't trick me like you did last time! I'm smarter now so much smarter too much for you.

_Kill, Nny. It's so easy. You've done it before._

_What an understatement. He's killed himself too, you know._

_Stay out of this, psycho doughboy. I'm trying to have some fun, here._

_Kill yourself, Nny. Don't listen to Eff. He's just pushing you further down the spiral. Stop the descent now._

No. Leave the bathroom cold wet who cares blood still there too much blood never wash off it wont ever wash off I don't care anymore. Downstairs they're waiting for you kill something now before you lose the will to do anything why bother I'm just going to end up killing myself stop thinking like that you have too much noise in your head stop the noise how do I stop the noise?

More blood damned salesman I hate him I hate everyone all of them. They all mock me must kill them cant stop now further down the spiral deeper into insanity its okay they know me here I'm so screwed up what happened to me who cares just kill they deserve to die

_Very good, Nny. Kill them._

Smell the fear hear the screams so much noise they make lovely noise drowning out the voices pure animal sound such life in them drain it kill them they must die.

_Kill the girl._

_Kill the girl, then yourself._

_Kill her, Nny._

_Be a good boy and kill._

_"NO!"_

_Just kill the irritant._

No....please don't make me kill her....

_KILL HER._

_KILL YOURSELF_

_KILL _

_KILL_

_KILL_

_KILL_

No! I'm not killing her OR me!

_Just do it, boy. You have enough weapons to get the job done. How about a nice sword? A dagger, perhaps? Or something less...direct. Poison, maybe._

No. I WILL NOT KILL HER!

_Just do it._

_Please, Nny? For your friends._

"YOU ARE NOT MY FRIENDS!"

**THUD.** Pieces of styrofoam. Bye, bye, Mister Eff. Bye, bye, Psycho Doughboy. You're not my friends. You're not my masters. I do not need you.

Oh, God, please make the noise stop...

Annette....help me......Oh, God, please help me....anyone....please....the voices....they're sill there.....please help me, Annette.....make them go away....

Author's note: Whoa. I did not know I was capable of writing something like that. Does this mean that I'm screwed up? Probably. Anyway, if you don't know by now, this little sequence of thoughts took place just before Annette found Nny sobbing in the basement. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but I do know that somewhere in his warped little head, Nny knows that he's done wrong. Too bad that part of him is so passive...Anyway, I had much fun. Hope you all enjoyed it, kids. Must go, for sleep beckons....

-Raven


	2. Johnny

5-25-05

"The scariest thing is a kid who can't take it anymore."

Long ago, a kid snapped. He was at skool one day and something went wrong. It wasn't his fault. There was just too much to handle, and he struck out in the only way he knew how. It wasn't the best decision of his life; in fact, it was probably the worst any human being could have done, but he had to live with it. There was no going back and trying to fix things. What he had done would shape the rest of his life in ways he could never have imagined.

Then again, had he known what lay in store for him, he probably wouldn't have pulled the trigger.

Johnny didn't like guns. They were cheap. Guns were unfair. Most importantly, there was no effort in it. One movement of one finger could kill. A gun could drop a being at a hundred yards. It wasn't fun; it wasn't exhilarating in the way a swordfight or just a plain disembowelment by spork was. He vowed never to use a gun-except on himself, but even that was hard to do.

After all, he hadn't found any answers last time.

Johnny didn't much like killing. He had to kill them. They were the scum of the planet, the bane of countless unfortunates' existence. They tormented him, ridiculed him, thought nothing of causing an innocent person irreparable damage. Parasites, they fed on others' pain and grew stronger with each mental scream from their victims. They desrved to die for their sins.

That, and because he had to feed the Wall, and he would rather use the blood of irritants.

Johnny didn't like people. In fact, most of them he downright loathed. They were a constant source of irritation, always saying exactly the wrong thing. Very few of the humanoid creatures Johnny came in contact with did not deserve to have their intestines pulled out through their mouths and be strangled with said intestines. The select ones he deemed "good" always went away.

The good ones never stayed for long, and they left behind a greater void than the one they tried to fill.

Johnny hated sleep. The mere closing of his eyelids left him nearly breathless with fear. Any time he fell asleep, he woke up with that horrible sense of disorientation. He didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten there. At times, he couldn't remember who he was for a few seconds. There was always that fear of never regaining the shreds of certainty he valued above all else.

And of course, sleep rendered him defenseless.

Johnny never really felt happiness. Those brief glimmers of some emotion not entirely negative in nature were always only the beginning of more pain. He tried to find something that would make him happy, but his own fear of the inevitable descent always destroyed any chance he ever had.

But of course, try as he might, there was no way to erase the emotion, no way to become the insect he so admired.

Johnny...didn't see the world as beautiful. He always saw its flaws, the pain, the sadness. As desperately as he wanted to see something innocent, all he found was the sad faces of those so young, yet already so corrupted. He saw nothing beautiful. Just the horror that was the lives of Johnny and the people around him. And if anything beautiful did exist, he had probably destroyed it himself years ago.

Then again, maybe he just didn't know where to look.

Johnny liked children. The infants were too naive to see the horrors of the world around them. They held no promise, but their brief innocence was a small spark of light in the darkness of Johnny's mind. He knew that by the time they reached adulthood, they would probably turn into the ones he so hated, but for now they were good. And as hard as he tried to keep them from turning into monsters, his efforts always ended the same-madness or fury.

Maybe that was why parents kept their children so far out of reach.

Johnny loved to paint a long time ago. He loved the feeling of creating a living, breathing work of art on a canvas, the rich colors making the image come to life. The pictures in his head were unleashed through the brushes, the paints, and they came out screaming. He could almost remember the times when he worked until he finally passed out at his easel, the effort exhausting but worth it. Even the paint coating his arms and face was a source of joy, evidence of his favorite pastime. He loved to bear the label of artist.

But of course, Johnny hadn't painted for a long time.

Johnny died a long time ago. It was an accident. Sort of. He hadn't really meant to pull the trigger again. He had threatened to, had held delusions that he would free himself from his personal hell, but something in him knew that he would never carry through with it. But that time, he had made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. Usually, though, the mistakes people make aren't enough to kill them.

But it didn't really matter, as they sent him back anyway.

Johnny never found the answers he was looking for. Not really, anyway. He was given an answer, but not THE answer. Some things are just not meant to be known. That wasn't much of a consolation for him, but it was still something. The question that had consumed him so long ago simply faded away, leaving behind yet another void, another blow to the fragile shell he had become.

In the end, he just stopped caring.

Johnny can't remember what happened to him years ago. His past ends at the day he moved into house 777. There is nothing behind that day. Johnny has always lived in house number 777. That's just how things go. He probably wouldn't have cared anyway whether he remembered anything at all. Perhaps living only today would have been better. Perhaps it would save him pain.

But he can't block it all out forever.

Johnny has changed since that day so long ago. His mind has warped to the point of implosion, and if he has a soul, it has retreated far into his being. Most of his tools lie rusting in the levels beneath the house, and only one of the rooms is still open. Johnny caved in the rest. He doesn't need such an extensive amount of space anymore. He has tried to pick up his paint brushes again, but no pictures want to be revealed.

Perhaps he hasn't changed as much as he thought.

Johnny still wonders what went wrong. All he ever finds is a blank canvas, a span of time that could yield the answer, time that he chose to forget. He will probably never fully remember that day, the day a kid snapped. And if he does, even he couldn't say if he would be able to handle it. The first time around, the consequences had been dire. Johnny never really wanted to pull the trigger. He had hated it so much that he never wanted to use a gun again. He hated it so much that he used it on the only thing he hated more-himself. Johnny can never be happy. He can never see the beauty in the people he sees every day. He can never escape himself, and he can never find the answer.

Johnny picked up his paints today. The image of a child breathed for the first time on a black canvas of pain and sadness. Haunted eyes mirrored the artist's as the brushes flew across the painting. Fatigue set in, but the fevered pace never slowed. The image refused to let him go until he was finished. And at last, his strength spent, Nny fell to the floor, as much paint drying on his figure as on his creation, and the image of a young boy on the verge of collapse smiled sadly out into the darkness.

author's note: hello again. i almost didnt add a note to this one...i really dont want to ruin the flow. i just thought i'd drop a quick word, say that i hope you liked this little exercise in insanity. i wrote this in about ten minutes of constant typing. it was weird. please to drop a review, and feel free to contact a neptunian psycho. au revoir, and again, hope you liked it.

raven, your friendly neptunian pyro  
(oh, and by the way, i no ownie, you no sue me. )


	3. Devi

5-27-05

"Look at all the lonely people..."

Once upon a time, a girl loved a boy. She was wary, he was shy. In time, they got to know each other very well. Or at least, SHE thought so. They seemed to be heading for a wonderful courtship, perhaps marriage. It was all so perfect.

Then he tried to kill her. Suffice to say things didn't exactly end well. She never really understood the motive. She was given a reason, but it wasn't the right one. Now she sits alone, terrified out of her mind and wondering what went wrong. Her bitter tears fall unnoticed.

Devi hated people. They sickened her. So many horrible things encased in a human shell. It just wasn't really worth trying to search out the good ones. Better to warp them, to set up the defenses to ensure never being hurt.

Devi really didn't like leaving her apartment. It was so nice and safe inside. Why should she even try to go out into the horrible world? It was far easier to barricade herself in her room with a coffee pot and a LOT of instant ramen.

Devi loved to paint. She loved the feeling of creating a living, breathing work of art. It consumed her so completely that she had more than once passed out at her easel. The many paintings cluttered her home and made for a lovely little fire hazard.

Devi only loved one person in her strange, twisted life. He had approached her back when she worked in a book store, and they had immediately clicked. Maybe it would have been better if they never went on a date. Then maybe he wouldn't have tried to kill her. Maybe things would have been different.

Probably not, but it was a nice thought.

Devi died oh so long ago. She died that night when he called. It was so long after their date, yet it had only seemed like the night before. She hated him for calling her even more than she hated him for trying to kill her. He seemed so sorry, yet she couldn't ever trust him again. Any chance they ever had was gone. As much as it had hurt, she had to push him away.

Devi sits alone in her apartment painting. The colors slash across the canvas, an image forming on the dark background. Sharp features, spiked hair, a frame so thin it looked almost painful, the haunted, sad look of the lonely soul. She wipes away a tear, smearing red across her cheekbone, and sits. She is asleep before she hits the ground.

Devi dreams. She imagines that there never was a time when she hated him. They are together, and they are happy. No violence, no arguments, only happiness.

And then she wakes, comes to in a world where nothing ever ends happily. Her bitter tears fall on half-dried paint, and she wishes desperately that it hadn't all gone so wrong.


End file.
